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Time That It Would Take – Toby Keith

Toby Keith, country singer-songwriter, dies at 62 after stomach cancer diagnosis | WesternSlopeNow.com

About the Song

Strap yourselves in for a heartfelt journey with Toby Keith’s emotional ballad, “Time That It Would Take”. Released in 2008, this song isn’t your typical foot-stomping country anthem Keith is known for. Instead, it delves into the complexities of love, loss, and the lingering effects of a broken relationship.

Keith, with his signature gruff charm, paints a poignant picture of a man grappling with the aftermath of a love that has faded. The lyrics explore the lingering pain and the struggle to move on. The title itself, “Time That It Would Take”, hints at the unknown duration of healing and the yearning for closure.

The beauty of the song lies in its relatable themes. Whether it’s a romantic heartbreak, a friendship gone sour, or the loss of a loved one, the song resonates with anyone who has experienced the lingering effects of a significant bond dissolving.

“Time That It Would Take” doesn’t offer easy answers or a quick fix. It acknowledges the emotional rollercoaster of healing, capturing the yearning for the past alongside the determination to move forward. The song’s strength lies in its raw honesty, allowing listeners to connect with the protagonist’s vulnerability.

Musically, the track takes a more subdued approach compared to Keith’s usual energetic style. The gentle strumming of the guitar and the melancholic melody create a contemplative atmosphere, further emphasizing the introspective nature of the lyrics.

“Time That It Would Take” is a testament to Toby Keith’s artistic range. While known for his rowdy anthems, this song showcases his ability to deliver a powerful ballad that tugs at the heartstrings. It’s a song for those who need a moment of reflection, a reminder that healing takes time, and the journey towards emotional wholeness can be a long and complex one.Toby Keith's Best Songs: 'Should've Been a Cowboy,' 'Who's That Man'

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Lyrics: Time That It Would Take

Forget about my crazy days
Forget about my checkered past
What’s all this Interrogatin?
Baby, forget about that
You don’t want to ask no questions
You don’t know the answers to
You might wish that I was lying
Once you heard the brutal truth
I can think a thousand things i’d rather do with youIn the time that it would take me to explain the way I am
Honey I could be well on my way to being your new man
We could waste the day away digging up my buried bones
Or you could turn it up and shake it, shake it all night long
I could rationalize and apologize and justify my way right in your door
But in the time that it would take me to tell you where i’ve been
Honey I could take you places you ain’t never been beforeYeah come on girl now don’t you judge me
Come on girl cut me some slack
Once I get you where i’m going baby you’ll come on back
You and me are gas and matches
You and me could take this town
Light it up and get her smokin’
You and me could burn it down
Or you could get all hung up on
How much i’ve been aroundIn the time that it would take me to explain the way I am
Honey I could be well on my way to being your new man
We could waste the day away digging up my buried bones
Or you could turn it up and shake it, shake it all night long
I could rationalize and apologize and justify my way right in your door
But in the time that it would take me to tell you where i’ve been
Honey I could take you places you ain’t never been beforeYeah In the time that it would take me to explain the way I am
I could be well on my way to being your new man
We could waste the day away digging up my buried bones
Or you could turn it up and shake it, shake it all night long
I could rationalize and apologize and justify my way right in your door
But in the time that it would take me to tell you where i’ve been
Honey I could take you places you ain’t never been before

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A cot waited in a rehearsal hall at RCA Victor’s New York studio while Jimmie Rodgers made his final recordings. Between songs, he lay down to recover enough strength for another take. It was May 1933. Rodgers was 35 and had battled tuberculosis since 1924. As his health deteriorated, his earnings had dwindled. Victor was paying $250 per recorded side, and he wanted to provide for his wife, Carrie, and their daughter, Anita. The sessions started on May 17. Within days, standing to sing became impossible. He worked from an easy chair, supported by pillows that brought him close enough to the microphone, then returned to the cot. On May 24, two musicians accompanied him through three songs. After they left, Rodgers recorded one more with only his guitar: “Years Ago.” He had completed twelve songs in eight days. The following night at the Taft Hotel, severe coughing gave way to hemorrhaging in his lungs. The hotel doctor could not be located. Rodgers fell into a coma and died on May 26, roughly 36 hours after his last recording. Before music made him famous, he had worked as a railroad brakeman. A Southern Railway train carried his body home to Meridian, Mississippi, in a baggage car. According to accounts of the journey, the engineer kept sounding the whistle along the way.

Randy Owen sometimes stopped his tour bus at truck stops to call radio DJs from pay phones. Alabama had already made him a country star. These calls were about persuading stations to help children at St. Jude. He knew what it meant to grow up with little. On his family’s sharecropper farm near Fort Payne, Alabama, he picked cotton and corn to help put food on the table. At school, other children mocked his scarred hands and the cotton dust on his clothes. Years later, after millions of record sales, Owen met St. Jude founder Danny Thomas in Atlanta. Thomas asked him to bring the country music community into the hospital’s fundraising work. When illness prevented Thomas from speaking at Nashville’s Country Radio Seminar, Owen took his place and proposed a nationwide radio effort. Winning support required persistence. He later described himself as “begging, pleading” with DJs. Some stations remained unconvinced. The first Country Cares radiothon aired on November 19, 1989: twelve hours, 45 artists and more than 800 stations. It raised approximately $1 million. By its 35th year in 2024, the initiative had brought in more than $1 billion. Owen has said helping St. Jude may be his most important work beyond being a husband and father. That enormous total began with individual requests, including calls made beside the highway between shows. Owen kept asking stations to participate. Across the country, their listeners kept answering.

Lorrie Morgan saved the card Keith Whitley gave her at the Nashville airport for her flight home. When she finally opened it, her husband was dead. It was early May 1989. Lorrie was heading to Alaska to promote her first RCA album, while Keith was enjoying the strongest run of his career. Just weeks earlier, “I’m No Stranger to the Rain” had become his third consecutive No. 1. At home, success had brought little reassurance. Keith had struggled with alcohol for years. A period of sobriety beginning in 1987 lasted about six months. Lorrie later described the fear surrounding his drinking as living with a ticking time bomb. In her 1997 memoir, she recalled tying her leg to his while they slept so she would know if he got up to drink. During her trip, he began drinking again that weekend. On Tuesday morning, May 9, his brother-in-law, Lane Palmer, visited the house in Goodlettsville. They drank coffee and discussed golf and lunch. Palmer left around 8:30 a.m. When he returned roughly an hour later, Keith was lying on the bed, fully dressed and unconscious. The medical examiner determined that he died from acute alcohol poisoning. Traveling back to Nashville, Lorrie read the card she had set aside. She later said its words left her feeling that Keith had been trying to tell her something—a feeling she was left to carry without the chance to ask him.

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A cot waited in a rehearsal hall at RCA Victor’s New York studio while Jimmie Rodgers made his final recordings. Between songs, he lay down to recover enough strength for another take. It was May 1933. Rodgers was 35 and had battled tuberculosis since 1924. As his health deteriorated, his earnings had dwindled. Victor was paying $250 per recorded side, and he wanted to provide for his wife, Carrie, and their daughter, Anita. The sessions started on May 17. Within days, standing to sing became impossible. He worked from an easy chair, supported by pillows that brought him close enough to the microphone, then returned to the cot. On May 24, two musicians accompanied him through three songs. After they left, Rodgers recorded one more with only his guitar: “Years Ago.” He had completed twelve songs in eight days. The following night at the Taft Hotel, severe coughing gave way to hemorrhaging in his lungs. The hotel doctor could not be located. Rodgers fell into a coma and died on May 26, roughly 36 hours after his last recording. Before music made him famous, he had worked as a railroad brakeman. A Southern Railway train carried his body home to Meridian, Mississippi, in a baggage car. According to accounts of the journey, the engineer kept sounding the whistle along the way.

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Randy Owen sometimes stopped his tour bus at truck stops to call radio DJs from pay phones. Alabama had already made him a country star. These calls were about persuading stations to help children at St. Jude. He knew what it meant to grow up with little. On his family’s sharecropper farm near Fort Payne, Alabama, he picked cotton and corn to help put food on the table. At school, other children mocked his scarred hands and the cotton dust on his clothes. Years later, after millions of record sales, Owen met St. Jude founder Danny Thomas in Atlanta. Thomas asked him to bring the country music community into the hospital’s fundraising work. When illness prevented Thomas from speaking at Nashville’s Country Radio Seminar, Owen took his place and proposed a nationwide radio effort. Winning support required persistence. He later described himself as “begging, pleading” with DJs. Some stations remained unconvinced. The first Country Cares radiothon aired on November 19, 1989: twelve hours, 45 artists and more than 800 stations. It raised approximately $1 million. By its 35th year in 2024, the initiative had brought in more than $1 billion. Owen has said helping St. Jude may be his most important work beyond being a husband and father. That enormous total began with individual requests, including calls made beside the highway between shows. Owen kept asking stations to participate. Across the country, their listeners kept answering.

Country

Lorrie Morgan saved the card Keith Whitley gave her at the Nashville airport for her flight home. When she finally opened it, her husband was dead. It was early May 1989. Lorrie was heading to Alaska to promote her first RCA album, while Keith was enjoying the strongest run of his career. Just weeks earlier, “I’m No Stranger to the Rain” had become his third consecutive No. 1. At home, success had brought little reassurance. Keith had struggled with alcohol for years. A period of sobriety beginning in 1987 lasted about six months. Lorrie later described the fear surrounding his drinking as living with a ticking time bomb. In her 1997 memoir, she recalled tying her leg to his while they slept so she would know if he got up to drink. During her trip, he began drinking again that weekend. On Tuesday morning, May 9, his brother-in-law, Lane Palmer, visited the house in Goodlettsville. They drank coffee and discussed golf and lunch. Palmer left around 8:30 a.m. When he returned roughly an hour later, Keith was lying on the bed, fully dressed and unconscious. The medical examiner determined that he died from acute alcohol poisoning. Traveling back to Nashville, Lorrie read the card she had set aside. She later said its words left her feeling that Keith had been trying to tell her something—a feeling she was left to carry without the chance to ask him.

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